Rebel Spring

  “Get rid of—?”

  “My magic. What if I don’t want it? What if I want to be normal?”

  Alexius studied her as if he didn’t understand. “You can’t change what you are. The elementia is a part of you.”

  “How can you say that when I didn’t have it for sixteen years? My life was—well, it was uneventful and sometimes dreary, but it wasn’t like this. I couldn’t kill someone with a thought by setting them on fire. I wasn’t looked at with fear and hate. I didn’t have to worry about mastering something dark and unpleasant that seeps through my very skin like a poison.”

  “You must not think of your magic like that, princess. It’s not a curse, it’s a gift. One many would give everything they have to possess—including many of my kind.”

  She shook her head. “Watchers are made from magic.”

  “Made from it, yes. But we can’t wield it as easily as you can.”

  Lucia paced to the edge of the meadow, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “What do you need my magic for, Alexius?”

  She had to know this. She could think of no other reason for this boy to continue to visit her if not to use her in some way.

  Not a boy, she reminded herself. Not even close.

  “There’s not enough time left to explain.” He scrubbed his hand through his bronze-colored hair and glanced back in the direction of the city.

  “Not enough time before what?”

  “Don’t you feel it? You’re on the very brink of waking. And this time, you’ll stay awake. I feel it because it is taking a great deal of my energy to stay in this dream with you.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. She was waking? Finally?

  It was all that she’d wanted. But now . . . there was too much more that needed to be said. She wasn’t ready to say farewell to Alexius. Not yet. The thought of it made her heart ache.

  “How will I see you again? Will you visit my regular dreams?”

  “Yes.” Alexius stepped closer to her and took her hands in his, his expression tense. “There is so much I want to tell you. That I . . . need to tell you, even if I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”

  So real—he felt so real. Warm skin, strong hands. He smelled of spices—exotic and entirely unforgettable.

  “So speak now, quickly—tell me what you need to say. Don’t keep me waiting.”

  “Do you trust me, princess?”

  “I can’t think of a single reason why I should,” she whispered, locking gazes with him.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Not a single reason?”

  She almost smiled. “These secrets. They’re secrets about me. Am I right?”

  He nodded once.

  “I need to know what the prophecy really said about my magic. All I know is that it said I was to become a sorceress, one able to channel all four parts of elementia.”

  “Yes, it did say that. And you can.”

  Frustration welled within her. “But for what purpose? I can work some magic, but I don’t want to.”

  His grip on her hands tightened. “There’s more to Eva’s prophecy—a part that is most important. Most guarded.”

  “Tell me.”

  “That you will be the one to free us from this prison and reunite us with the Kindred.” He glanced toward the crystal city, a wary look on his handsome face. “That you will save us all from destruction.”

  She searched his eyes. “What do you mean by destruction?”

  He shook his head. “Without the Kindred in our possession, the magic that existed here a thousand years ago has been fading away little by little. When it’s gone, elementia is gone. Not just in the Sanctuary, but in all the world. All life is created from the magic of the elements. And without that magic, there is nothing left. So you see, princess? You are the key to our future—to everyone’s future.”

  She shook her head. “That’s impossible. I don’t know how to do that. You think I can help save the world?”

  His expression grew troubled. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you this. Not yet. She’ll be angry with me, but—but you have a right to know.”

  “Who are you speaking about? Your friend Phaedra? The one who interrupted us before?”

  He shook his head. “No. Someone else. Tell no one of what I’ve said to you, princess. And trust no one—no one—not even those you feel are worthy of your trust.

  “Alexius . . .” His expression was so full of anguish, so full of passion . . . and all of it seemed to be directed at her.

  “I wasn’t supposed to feel anything for you,” he whispered, drawing her closer. She couldn’t look away from him. “When I watched you from afar, I had that distance. That objectivity. I lack that now.”

  Lucia could barely breathe as she watched him, her skin heating where he touched her.

  “You have become very important to me,” he continued haltingly, “more important than I dare admit even to myself. I never understood how an immortal could fall in love with a mortal. It wasn’t logical. I thought them fools to give up eternity for a handful of years in the mortal world with the one who held their heart captive. I don’t think that anymore. There are some mortals who are worth sacrificing eternity for.”

  The fire in her cheeks went forgotten. She found she was stepping closer, so close, to him.

  “I should never visit your dreams again,” he said, pain crossing his face. “There are dangers ahead that you cannot fathom. But, no . . . there must be other ways to get what is needed. And if there are, I will find them. I swear this to you.”

  She had no idea what he was talking about now, only that he had admitted that he was falling in love with her. Hadn’t he? “Yes, you should visit my dreams. You can’t leave me now. You’re important to me too, Alexius. I—I need you in my life.”

  That anguish remained in his dark silver eyes. So incredibly intense. So filled with the answers she needed to questions that she hadn’t even asked. And then he cupped her face in his hands and bent to brush his lips against hers.

  Perhaps he’d meant it as a chaste kiss, but it quickly became anything but. His hands slid down to her waist and he crushed her against him, deepening the kiss. She touched his face, his chin, and slid her fingers into his hair. He tasted like nectar, spiced honey . . . sweet and addictive. She wanted more. Her hands moved to the ties of his shirt, pulling them free to bare his chest. He had a mark, a glowing swirl of gold, over his heart. “What is this?”

  “A sign of what I am.”

  So beautiful. He was so beautiful that she never wanted to wake up. She wanted to be with him forever.

  “I love you, Alexius,” she whispered against his lips. He tensed at her words, and she very nearly regretted letting them escape, but then his mouth was on hers again, hard and demanding, stealing both her breath and her heart. . . .

  And then darkness spread across the meadow, obliterating it from view and sweeping Alexius away from her.

  A cry caught in her throat.

  Lucia slowly opened her eyes to find herself in a large, canopied bed, under soft, white silk sheets. Her gaze was fixed upon a flickering candle on her bedside table.

  A strange and unfamiliar ache gripped her heart.

  Alexius.

  A young girl wearing a plain gray dress dozed in a nearby chair. After a moment, her eyes popped open and then widened. “Your highness . . . you’re awake!”

  “Water,” Lucia managed to say.

  The girl scurried to get water. “I must inform the king immediately.”

  “Not yet. Please, give me a moment before you do anything of the sort.”

  Of course, the girl obeyed. She brought water, which Lucia drank only after a short hesitation. Then the girl fetched fruit, cheese, and bread.

  “Two months,” Lucia whispered with dismay when she asked how long she’d been asleep. “How have I survived
so long?”

  “You’ve been able to accept a specially prepared drink that has sustained you,” the girl explained. “The healers said it was a small miracle.”

  Yes, a miracle. One that enabled her mother to administer the potion that kept her asleep. A tremor of anger coursed through her and the drinking glass she held shattered.

  “Princess!” the servant girl cried out, clearly horrified that she’d injured herself, as she began picking up the sharp pieces of glass.

  Lucia looked down at her bleeding hand, cocking her head as she considered the stinging wound. The King of Blood was her father. Did that make her the Princess of Blood? Her blood was so bright red it very nearly glowed.

  Drops of crimson fell to the crisp white sheets. The girl quickly bound her hand with a cloth.

  Lucia pushed her away. “It’s nothing.”

  “I’ll get some fresh sheets.”

  Lucia regarded her. “Don’t look so scared. Like I said, it’s nothing.”

  She unwound the bandage and concentrated on her cut flesh. Her hand began to glow with a beautiful, warm golden light. A moment later, her wound was completely healed.

  Her mother had been wrong about her. She wasn’t evil. This wasn’t evil. Using her elementia, especially after such a long absence, felt right. It felt good.

  “I have heard rumors,” the girl whispered, awed, “about what you can do.”

  The girl was much more of a nuisance than a plain little mouse should ever be. “Rumors that I’d strongly suggest you put out of your mind lest they grow sharp teeth to devour you with.”

  The girl paled. “Yes, your grace.”

  “Go fetch my brother for me. Only my brother.”

  As the little mouse scurried away, Lucia found herself shocked by the rudeness of her words. She usually treated servants with much more kindness than this. What was happening to her?

  Lucia turned her head toward the balcony window in this unfamiliar room. She looked out at the blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds and the rolling green landscape beyond. Undeniably beautiful, but not home. Not perfect, white, frost-covered Limeros.

  A golden hawk touched down on the railing of the balcony and at the sight of it Lucia sat straight up, the effort making her dizzy. The hawk studied her for several moments, his head cocking to the side.

  “Alexius?” she whispered. “Is that you?”

  The bedroom’s heavy wooden doors swung open, crashing against the wall, and the bird took flight from its perch. Lucia turned with a scowl toward the door to see Magnus standing there.

  “Lucia . . .” He swiftly came to her side. “I swear to the goddess, if you fall asleep again, I’ll be furious with you!”

  Despite her flash of annoyance at disturbing the hawk, it was so good to see him again. His dark hair had grown long enough that it nearly hid his brown eyes. She hadn’t noticed this on her previous brief awakening. “I won’t fall asleep again because I won’t let it happen again. Magnus, Mother has been putting a potion in my water. She’s the one who’s kept me asleep all this time.”

  He stared at her. “Why would she do such a thing?”

  “Because she thinks I’m evil. She told me herself she wanted to kill me.” She reached out to clutch his hand. “I never want to see that woman again or I can’t be held responsible for what I might do to her to protect myself. She’s always hated me, Magnus. Now I feel exactly the same way toward her.”

  Every candle’s flame in the room suddenly rose a half foot, blazing as hot as Lucia’s temper. Magnus eyed them warily before returning his gaze to hers.

  “Lucia . . . Mother is dead. She was murdered by rebels a week and a half ago.”

  “Dead?” Lucia’s mouth went dry. The next moment, the flames she’d summoned with barely a thought extinguished completely.

  She waited to feel some sort of reaction—some kind of grief or sadness or . . . anything at all. But there was nothing.

  “I will find her killer. I swear I will. And I will make him pay for what he’s done.” Magnus’s voice caught and he pulled from her grip to pace the room, keeping his face in shadows.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” she whispered.

  “A loss to us all.”

  He mourned their mother—deeply. But Lucia found that she did not.

  Magnus strode across the room, absently stroking the scar on his cheek. He always did so when he was thinking deeply, whether he realized it or not. “Mother’s body was found with a witch—also murdered. Likely, this witch was supplying her with the sleeping potion. I just don’t understand why she’d do such a thing. What was she thinking?”

  So her mother consulted with witches, did she? To fight fire with fire—magic with magic. “We’ll never know for sure,” she said instead. She reached out to Magnus and he came back to her side, grasping her hand in his again. “Help me up. I need to get out of this bed.”

  He did as she asked, supporting her. But as soon as her weight was on both legs, she found she did not have the strength to stand on her own.

  “Not yet, I’m afraid,” he said, helping her back into bed. “You must rest.”

  “I’ve been resting for two months!”

  A weary smile curled up the side of his mouth, though his dark eyes were still filled with grief. “Another couple of days will have to be added. You’re not going anywhere today. Too bad, really. On any other day, I could sit here till nightfall and fill you in on everything else you’ve missed. For example, how I feel about being trapped in Auranos. Always bright and shiny and delightfully green—and I truly could not hate it more. All I wish to do is join the hunt for the rebel who killed our mother. But that will have to wait.”

  “Wait for what?”

  Magnus stood up from the side of the bed and leaned his arm against the poster near the base. “Until I return.”

  “Where are you going?”

  His brow furrowed. It was as if he didn’t wish to speak his thoughts aloud.

  “Magnus, tell me. What’s wrong?”

  “Today’s an important day, Lucia. I find it quite ironic that today, of all days, is when you’ve finally returned to us. To me.”

  “What’s today?”

  “It’s my wedding day.”

  She gaped at him and struggled to sit up amongst the many cushions and pillows surrounding her. “What? Who are you marrying?”

  His jaw tightened. “Princess Cleiona Bellos.”

  Lucia could not believe her ears. “This has been arranged.”

  Magnus gave her a look. “Oh, not at all. Since helping to take her father’s kingdom and destroy her life, I couldn’t help but fall madly in love with her. Yes, obviously it was arranged.”

  Her brother, betrothed to Princess Cleiona—the golden princess of Auranos! “And you’re not pleased.”

  Magnus rubbed his forehead as if the very thought of this pained him. “Pleased that I’m to be wed to a girl who hates me? That I feel nothing for her in return? All to help serve Father’s political agenda? I would say ‘not pleased’ is putting it rather mildly.”

  She understood why such a strange union would make sense, despite her initial surprise. But this felt deeply wrong. “He may be the king and your father, but he’s not your lord and master and you’re not his slave. Refuse to marry her.”

  He studied her for a long moment. “Do you want me to refuse?”

  “It has nothing to do with me, Magnus. This is your life, your future.”

  From his suddenly pained expression she knew this was not the reply he’d hoped for.

  She inwardly cringed at the memory of Magnus admitting the depth of his desire for her, of forcing a kiss upon her she didn’t want, nor that she returned.

  “Nothing has changed between us, Magnus,” she whispered. “Please understand that.”

  “I do under
stand.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes.” The word was a hiss.

  They might not share blood, but to her, he was her brother in every way that counted. To feel anything else for him was impossible. When he’d kissed her, she’d felt only disgust.

  But when Alexius had kissed her . . .

  “Don’t cry,” Magnus said, reaching forward to gently stroke the tears from her cheeks, tears she was surprised to find herself shedding. “I must wed the princess. There’s no other choice.”

  “Then I wish you all good things, brother.”

  She couldn’t help but notice her choice of words made him wince. She’d disappointed him, but there was nothing she could do about it. She didn’t love Magnus the way he wanted her to. And she never would.

  Lucia pushed his hands away and turned toward the balcony again, searching for any sign of the golden hawk that had been there before, desperately wishing that Alexius would soon visit her again so he could guide her. So he could be with her.

  Somehow, some way.

  CHAPTER 20

  CLEO

  AURANOS

  It was the morning of Cleo’s wedding.

  And it would be the day that King Gaius would die.

  For you, Mira. Today he will pay for his crimes in blood.

  Fire burned within her. Today, she would have her vengeance.

  Currently, however, her two Limerian attendants tugged so painfully at her hair that she wanted to cry like a little girl, not a future queen. “I don’t know why I can’t just wear it down,” she growled.

  “The king commanded that it be plaited like this,” Dora haughtily explained. “And it will only take longer if you keep squirming about.”

  Cleo had to admit that the king’s interfering attention to detail had paid off. Her hair did look beautiful in this style, a crisscrossing of tiny braids, woven together in an intricate pattern. Still, she hated it. She hated everything to do with this wedding—doubly so as the servants helped her into the beautiful but heavy gown Lorenzo had finished for her. He’d personally come to the palace to take her measurements the day after she’d returned from the Wildlands, full of endless, groveling apologies that his seamstress, unbeknownst to him, had been working for rebels. The girl had disappeared, but Lorenzo swore that if he learned anything new about her location, he would inform the king.